For a few years now, my husband has insisted that I possess a special gift.
Apparently, I can spot royalty.
Not literally, of course. But whenever we were walking through a store and I happened to look to the left while moving down an aisle, I would drift and dip ever so slightly. From behind, it looked suspiciously like a curtsy.
His explanation was simple.
“Looks like you’re welcoming the Queen of England.”
It made me laugh every time.
The funny thing was that he wasn’t entirely joking.
I had noticed something was changing.
Not in a dramatic way. I could still walk, exercise, travel, and do all the things I enjoyed doing. In fact, if you asked me to stand on one foot, I’d probably do better than most people my age.
But real life was different.
Busy stores. Crowds. Too much movement. Too much stimulation.
That’s when my balance would become unpredictable.
One thing I noticed early on was that grocery carts helped. Not because I needed help carrying groceries, but because holding onto the cart seemed to steady me. I could move through the store with confidence.
At some point, I brought it up to my doctor and asked for physical therapy. Specifically, I wanted someone who understood the connection between vision and balance. I remember getting a look that suggested I might be overthinking things.
Fortunately, I found a local practice that specializes in neurological conditions like multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s disease, and stroke recovery.
It turned out to be one of the best decisions I could have made.
Over the next year and a half, I learned a lot about how my body processes movement and stimulation. Then one day, standing in my kitchen, I noticed something I had never paid attention to before.
I looked to the left.
My balance shifted.
And my eyes skipped.
I tried it again.
The same thing happened.
It seemed like a strange thing to discover while standing in your kitchen, but eventually it led to an answer: nystagmus.
Suddenly, years of small observations started making sense.
Living with multiple sclerosis has taught me that sometimes you become a student of your own body. You notice patterns other people would never think about. You learn what helps, what doesn’t, and where your limits actually are.
Most of all, you learn to adapt.
For a long time, I treated it as one of those things that didn’t need much discussion. I adapted, made adjustments, and kept moving.
Eventually, though, I realized there was no reason to pretend it wasn’t happening.
Multiple sclerosis is part of my life.
A curtsy in the grocery store is apparently part of my life too.
Neither one gets the final say on who I am.
The whole story includes four-mile walks, good days, hard days, family, faith, laughter, and a husband who still thinks I’m secretly preparing for a royal visit.
Years ago, while our Doberman Keno was still alive, we started talking about the future. We didn’t know what multiple sclerosis might bring, but we knew that if we ever welcomed another dog into our family, we would train him as a service dog.
Not because I was giving up.
Because I planned on staying active and independent for as long as possible.
That decision eventually brought Whiskey into our lives.
But that’s a story for another day.
For now, I’m grateful for grocery carts, good physical therapists, unexpected discoveries in the kitchen, and a sense of humor that reminds me not to take every challenge too seriously.
And if I happen to curtsy in the cereal aisle every now and then, I suppose it’s only polite to acknowledge visiting royalty.
